The tavern air was thick with the scent of ale, burning wood, and sweat. Laughter and drunken bickering filled the space, but in one dimly lit corner, a lone figure commanded the room's attention.
The Bard leaned back in his chair, a half-empty mug of ale in one hand and his lyre resting against his knee. His golden pupils glimmered under the warm lantern glow as he smirked, swirling the drink in his hand.
"Ahh… the world is a funny thing, isn't it?" he mused, his voice carrying just enough weight to hush the nearby chatter. "One moment, nothing but an endless void—silent, vast, lonely. Then, with a whisper from the Goddess Themis, the stars themselves trembled, and Genezis was born."
A few patrons leaned in closer, intrigued. Others rolled their eyes but listened anyway.
"She saw the universe's emptiness and pitied it. So with a sweep of her hand, she scattered stardust across the void, each speck carrying the promise of life. Lands rose, seas formed, magic pulsed in the veins of the world, and creatures great and small took their first breaths. Beautiful, isn't it? A grand design, woven by divine hands!"
The Bard chuckled to himself before taking a swig from his mug, his lips twisting into a sardonic grin. "And yet, despite all that wonder, here we are—drinking ourselves into oblivion in a rundown border town. Ah, the gods must be laughing."
He slammed the empty mug onto the table with a hollow thud. "But what does it matter who made us? The only thing that matters is how we live. And for some of us… life ain't exactly fair."
His gaze drifted to the window, where the streets of Zilt stretched beyond the tavern walls. His smirk faded ever so slightly.
________
In the back alleys of Zilt, the scent of damp wood, rot, and unwashed bodies clung to the air. In a narrow alley, dimly lit by a flickering magic lantern, a small boy crouched behind a stack of broken crates. His ragged blanket did little against the cold, and his emerald eyes—once bright—were dulled by exhaustion and wariness.
Jin had long since learned that the world owed him nothing. Kindness was a myth. Mercy was a fleeting illusion.
But then, the aroma of freshly baked bread cut through the filth-ridden air like a cruel joke.
His stomach twisted painfully as he looked up, his gaze locking onto a figure standing at the alley's entrance.
The boy wasn't dressed like a noble, nor did he have the hardened air of an adventurer. His clothes were worn but practical, his posture relaxed yet steady. He carried a cloth bag slung over his shoulder, its contents shifting with a muffled rustle.
"Oi, little brat," the older boy—barely three years older—called out, his voice steady but lacking cruelty.
Jin tensed but didn't run. Running only made them chase.
The older boy crouched, tossing a small bundle onto the ground. Jin hesitated before snatching it up, his fingers trembling as he unwrapped the cloth.
Bread. Thick. Still warm.
"Eat," the stranger said simply. "There's more where that came from."
Jin swallowed, the lump in his throat tighter than before. "Who… are you?" he croaked.
The older boy smirked. "Just someone who works for the Solana Merchant Guild. And I hate seeing kids starve."
He turned on his heel, disappearing into the night, leaving Jin clutching the bread as though it might vanish.
That night was the first step toward something beyond mere survival.
______________
In the Northeastern part of the Rexroth Kingdom, where the Veritas Dukedom stood against the demon-infested lands, battle was not a choice—it was a ritual.
The earth trembled under the relentless charge of monstrous hordes. Twisted beyond recognition, their grotesque forms bore eyes burning blood-red, driven by nothing but the primal urge to tear, destroy, and devour.
A fortified earthen wall, raised and reinforced by magic, shook under their assault. Soldiers braced themselves, gripping weapons tight, murmuring hurried prayers to gods who had long since stopped listening.
And then, from the barracks, a lone figure stepped forward.
The warrior was massive, his presence alone enough to part the gathered soldiers. Draped in a thick battle-worn cloak, he wielded a greatsword nearly as large as himself. Its golden core pulsed near the hilt like a living heart, radiating an ominous glow. Yet, none dared stop him.
As the monstrous tide approached, the warrior exhaled.
Then, with a single swing—
Whoooosh!
A devastating gust of wind exploded outward. The sheer force kicked up a storm of dust so thick it swallowed the battlefield whole. The very air trembled. The earth cracked.
And when the dust finally settled, a massive crater remained, scorched by the sheer force of the strike. The demon horde—once charging with mindless fury—was nothing but torn, dismembered remains scattered across the ground.
The warrior turned away, his gruff voice carrying through the silence.
"Hmph… Seems like there weren't many today."
Before the dust had fully settled, he had already disappeared into the barracks, his presence fading like a ghost.
_____________
Stumbling into the quiet streets of Zilt, the Bard gazed up at the sky. Above him, two crescent moons shone brightly—one pure white, the other bathed in a bluish-white hue. Their glow bathed the empty roads in an eerie, dreamlike light.
With sluggish steps, he made his way toward a stone fountain at the heart of the street—a place of lovers by day, a shelter for the lost by night.
"Ahhh… the morning's playground for lovebirds… hic… becomes a sanctuary for fools like me once night falls! Will you grant me a place to rest, oh mighty fountain?"
Silence.
Not that it mattered. Before an answer could come, he was already asleep, sprawled across the bench beside the fountain, his lyre clutched tightly to his chest.
For, in the end, that was all he had.
The lyre was his body. The music was his soul.
Thus, the wanderer who drifted through the world… drifted off to sleep.